Knots (Club Imperial Book 4) (20 page)

His head lowered. “I could not resist, Mistress.”

“Punishment is in order.”

“Yes, mistress.”

Cece gave herself another moment before she stood. She needed a paddle of some sort—and before she could think about violating the Gideon Bible for her purposes, she found that John had laid out a selection of implements for her to choose from on the dresser. He hadn’t just brought punishment either. There were all kinds of toys there she could use.

“Well. Your thoughtful thoroughness goes to decrease your punishment, John. But there is still punishment to be meted out.” Cece considered the two of her favorites that were sitting there. The flogger and the long wooden paddle, and choose the paddle. She wasn’t familiar with that flogger and didn’t want to injure him.

She knelt next to him, giving her the perfect position for his paddling. Since this was, ostensibly punishment, the only warning she gave was, “Count six, John.”

The paddle came down on his ass hard. Not a yelp, not a flinch, and only the words, “One, mistress,” found their way out of his mouth. She swung again, just as hard and with the same result. His acceptance of his punishment was perfect: no complaints, no calling the safe word, no movement. Simple acceptance.

Christ, she wanted to fuck this man.

Stilling her own drumming heart, she found the soothing cream on the dresser—he had not only thought of everything, but knew his mistress—and carefully, gently applied to bright red hits on his ass. Cece enjoy the moment, smoothing the cool cream over the soft, firm globes, running her fingers teasingly along the seam there.

“I’m going to leave you in this form, John. We took our time getting here, we’ll take our time coming back out.” She studied the objects on the dresser again, and found that, delightfully, John had offered several different options for anal play. She’d have some fun with that in a moment.

Cece took the time he was wrapped and embraced by the ropes to clean—herself and the toys, and then sat on the bed to watch him.

John’s breathing was steady, his head bent. The ropes bit lightly into his skin and he remained perfectly still.

Cece didn’t know what to do about him. He was a perfect submissive. There was something about him that was familiar, and yet wasn’t familiar. As if she were missing a clue. Of course, he was withholding something from her anyway, by wearing the mask all the time.

She wanted to pull off that disguise and put her curiosity to rest. But just as she had rules, so did he and that’s the way it worked. The Trust. If there was no trust, there was no agreement, there was no lifestyle. It was the ultimate rule in the lifestyle, especially for those into the hardcore pain and punishment. There had to be trust, in both directions. Dominant and submissive, the other had to be sure the other wouldn’t cross that line. Whatever that line was.

Cece knelt in front of him again, this time with a bottle of water and few pieces of her favorite chocolate. “John. You need a drink.”

“Thank you, mistress,” he answered quietly.

She held the straw up for him and let him sip carefully. “And how are you?”

“Calm mistress. Everything is green.”

“Good,” Cece said. She offer him a few pieces of chocolate. “I’ll unbind you in a few minutes and we’ll rearrange.” She leaned into his ear. “On the bed, John. I plan to fuck you hard.”

He exhaled, the words dancing across her cheek. “Thank you, mistress.”

“Ready?”

“Never,” Cece said. “Do we really have to do this?”

“You know we do,” Paul answered, and didn’t give her a chance to back out, yanking the door open. “Just grin and bear it, Cece. We’ll get this all done and we won’t have to deal with our mothers for a while.”

Cece stuck her tongue out and walked into the house. Despite all the rumors, and her own initial misgivings, she’d found herself enjoying Paul’s company. He was fun and funny and none of the infamous temper was anywhere to be seen. Truth be told, she chided herself, she had more of a temper than he did. The only saving grace was that as much as they were spending time together, she hadn’t felt more than kind camaraderie with him.

She walked through the gorgeous house that was the Wainwright stronghold, and she was quietly impressed. Where her parents were show-offish old money, the Wainwrights were quiet, understated wealth. Probably coming from the necessity of hiding Paul’s father’s slightly shady side business.

Slightly shady.
Cece shook her head at the underwhelming assessment that was. She’d had Albright check into Wainwright’s dealing and even he came back with his jaw unhinged. She forced herself to remember that conversation as they walked through the elegant opulence in the front hall.

Marjorie, her mother, and Rinette, Paul’s mother, were sitting at the table, sipping coffee, laughing and paging through magazines and catalogues. They had clearly been at it a while, judging by the amount of discarded material and the mostly empty coffee pot. Cece stopped at the door and Paul put a hand on her back and pushed her forward.

“Don’t start,” he mumbled.

“Please, let’s not. Can’t we go skydiving? Bungee jumping? Cliff diving?”

Paul snorted as they approached the table. He pulled out Cece’s chair and sat next to her.

“Good morning, you two lovebirds.” Rinette giggled. Cece cringed and was going to say something when Paul poked her leg in warning. “So, Marjorie and I have been going over these invitations and we have a few picked out for us.”

Cece opened her mouth to snap, but Paul poked her again and spoke over her. “Well, it’s good you have an idea of what will work, but I think we should go through them and Cece and I will pick what we like.”

“Remember, darling,” Rinette said. “There are lots of names that have to go on our invite.”

“Who’s getting married?” Cece grumbled. There was no stopping that comment.

“What’s that sweetie?” Marjorie asked.

Cece toned her question down.  “Just wondering what names your talking about.”

“Yours and Paul’s, mine and your father, Rinette and Yuri, grandparents on both sides--”

“I don’t think we need to put grandparents,” Paul stated, anticipating Cece’s objection. “That’s a bit much.”

“But how will people know your pedigree?” Rinette asked.

“I’m not a dog, mother,” Paul snapped, beating Cece to the same answer. “I don’t need a pedigree on my wedding invitations. Parents and bride and groom. That’s it. End of it.” Rinette opened her mouth to say something else. “End. Of. Discussion.” Paul’s angry tone was clear, and Cece was impressed.

Rinette rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then Marjorie and I will work on the flowers.”

“I was thinking roses.” Marjorie reached for a new catalog.

“Well you’d be thinking incorrectly,” Paul said. “I’m allergic to roses.”

“You’re allergic to
roses
?” Marjorie gasped. “You’re not trying to be difficult are you?”

“Mom, you’d want to keep in mind that Paul is going to be your son-in-law and probably not someone you want to get off on the wrong foot with.” Cece stared at her mother, hard.

“Yes, I’m allergic to roses,” Paul confirmed.

“Well, that shot my ideas down.” Marjorie sighed.

Rinette patted her hand. “Ranunculus?”

Cece’s mother popped her head up with a smile. “Ranunculus!” She grabbed a magazine. “Of course! The look of roses but not roses! Lots and lots of pink and white ranunculus!”

“No pink,” Cece stated.

“Don’t be silly--”

Cece closed the catalog she had just opened. “Mom. When have I ever,
ever
like anything pink? Honestly. Think about it. I’m not a pink person. Blues, greens, reds. Never pink. No pink.”

Marjorie stared at her daughter a long moment. “You really don’t want a pink wedding?”

Cece shook her head. “No, mom, I don’t want a pink wedding.”

Marjorie blinked a few times. “A black and white wedding! I’ve always loved those!”

“Who is getting married here?” Cece asked again, the anger rising in her tone.

“You have to consider our guests.”

“
My
guests!”

Marjorie clucked at her. “Darling, we’re paying for this wedding.”

Cece snorted and laughed. “No, you’re not!”

Paul grabbed her elbow. “Cece, please take it down a notch.”

She whipped her head around to snap at him, but stopped. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Sorry. This whole thing is very stressful.”

“That’s okay, darling.” Marjorie smiled.

Cece bit her tongue. The apology had not been for her mother—only for Paul. She took another deep breath and look back at the catalogs. Paul gave her the side eye, and she knew she had to give her mother and Rinette a non-offensive, non-intrusive job. “Why don’t you work on the linens. They’ll have to be white, but there are so many different styles, and I really don’t know much about that.”

“Of course!” Rinette was gleeful, pulling a different stack of magazines over. “There’s so many different styles and we have to figure out the place-settings.”

Cece tried not to roll her eyes, instead opening the invitation catalogs. She pushed one at Paul who was trying not to laugh. He nodded and started paging through it. “So, tell me, my little jitterbug, what colors do you want? Because that’s going to make a difference.”

Putting a hand to her mouth, Cece tried not to laugh.
Jitterbug
? She paged through a few more samples and sighed. “I love blue and purple. Dark blues, dark purples. Not at the same time. Yellow pops of color with either.”

“That eliminates this whole catalog.” Paul closed it and tossed it on to a different pile.

“Blue? Purple?” Marjorie was clearly horrified. “Darling, are you going for a colorful wedding? That’s not really the kind of wedding I’m envisioning for you. That’s why I was thinking about a black and white wedding. It’s elegant and--”

“Mom. Stop.” Desperately trying to rein in her anger, Cece continued to flip through the catalog. “I like blue or purple with yellow. That’s what I like.”

“It’s not elegant,” Marjorie cautioned.

Cece gave up, and lost her mind. “I don’t even want a wedding! I don’t want invitations or dresses or tableside choices for dinner! None of it!”

“You can’t elope!” Rinette cried. “You can’t!”

Cece swept the magazines off the table. “I am not eloping! I am not having a pink wedding. If we are doing this, it’s going to be on
our
goddamn terms!”

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Paul mumbled.

“
What
?” Cece snapped and turned on him.

“Jitterbug,” he said, grabbing her elbow, “why don’t you pop out back and take a moment to yourself. You’re stressed and acting out.”

“You’re not fucking kidding I’m acting out!” Cece snapped. She grabbed the magazine on the table and threw it at the wall. “I’m having a goddamn tantrum at this point! I’m having a wedding I don’t want with colors I hate and flowers the groom is allergic to! Don’t you think I have a little bit of a right to lose my shit?”

Marjorie was horrified. “My
God
, the mouth on you!”

“You have no f—”

Paul slapped his hand over her mouth. “Frances.
Please
. Take a walk outside for just a few minutes. You need to cool off.” The look he gave her didn’t match the kind tone of words. Cece had to resist the urge to bite his finger. She shoved the stool back and marched out of the back door of the kitchen to the ridiculously expansive grounds the Wainwright home sat on. She walked over to the trash cans and kicked them hard, wishing they were the old metal ones so she could feel the kick do damage. She turned and kicked it again. The urge to inflict damage on something was nearly overwhelming. She wished she could cause some serious destruction.

Someone grabbed her arms.

Without thinking, she stepped back, set her feet, and yanked them up and over and on to their back, winding them instantly.

Paul
.

“Fuck! Goddamn it!” she screamed, dropping next to him. Cece slid her hand under his shoulders and he pushed her away. “I’m sorry, Paul. Shit.”

The next instant, Paul pulled in a huge breath of air and started coughing. He sat up on his own and looked at her, panting, desperate to catch his breath. “What the living fuck was that? What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Paul, I’m sorry--”

“You have a real temper, honey, and you need to curb that shit.” He climbed to his feet, clearly in pain. “You could have really hurt me. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Someone was attacking me,” Cece admitted quietly.

“Cece, you need to chill out.” He rubbed the small of his back. “You have got to take this intensity down a notch. I don’t want this either. You know that. But you can’t go and attack your mother and mine because you don’t want pink flowers. Christ, have some reason. We both have too much on the line here to piss off the masses. I don’t want a wedding with pink flowers either. I don’t want the wedding. But we’re here, and we have to make the best of this in order for a believably amicable divorce.”

Cece turned away for just a moment to collect herself, then turned back to him. “Are you alright? The move I used is supposed to wind and injure.”

Paul rubbed his back again. “A little rough, but I think I’ll live.. Come on. Let’s go sit in the garden for a while, so you can relax and I can recover. You need to be away from the house to get your head on straight.”

“I’m really sorry, Paul.” Cece felt sheepish and mostly a fool. She shouldn’t have let her anger get the better of her; she knew how to control herself and the reactions she had—to her mother and to someone laying a hand on her arm—were inexcusable.

She knew why though.

John
.

She hadn’t expected the evening to go so perfectly. Certainly, she knew he was a willing sub, but to be so attuned to him so quickly… It wasn’t her normal reaction. By his reactions, it wasn’t John’s either. Just everything between them had been perfect. And she realized she couldn’t give it up. Not just John, but Everett and the Club as well. She loved being in charge. She loved everything having to do with the lifestyle.

Paul sat down on the bench, facing the opposite direction that Cece had sat. He stretched his long legs out ahead of head of him, and she watched him crack his back with a sigh of relief.

“So what the hell is bugging you, Jitterbug?” Paul asked.

“Jitterbug?”

“I don’t know, it sound endearing without being typical,” he shrugged. “My question stands.”

Cece sighed. “What are our sleeping arrangements going to be, Paul?” Plucking at the bench, she avoided eye contact.

“Oh.” The answer was small and full of realization.

“People are going to expect a kid.”

“Uh…”

Nodding, Cece finally looked up at him. “Yes. Exactly. I like you and all Paul, and I think we can get through this. But that promise we made to not mock marriage while we were in it is starting to look like a hard promise to keep.”

“Well, I…” He paused.

“I don’t want to be celibate for eighteen months. I don’t. I don’t think I can, more importantly.” Cece picked at the bench again. “Are you seeing anyone?”

He nodded unhestitantly. “I am.”

“Will she wait for you?”

He nodded.

“But can you really asked her to do that? How is that fair to your relationship? Have you stopped seeing each other since this whole farce started?”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m there nearly every night. We practically live together.”

Cece leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees. “Paul, I’m going to tell you this because I trust you and we have two years that we have to deal with each other on a one-on-one basis.” She looked at him. “I cannot be celibate for the length of this marriage. I can’t do it. I don’t want to. I don’t know how you’re going to take this, but my second job won’t allow me to be. At least, not and remain sane.”

Paul turned his head slowly toward her. “…Second job?”

She nodded. “Second job. And before you ask me, I’m not prostitute and I’m not a call girl.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” Paul grumbled. “And a great segway for this conversation.”

“I’m trying to be honest,” Cece answered.